Tag: insanity

There’s a gentleness in insanity. In the many moments I spend walking the line between reality and the broken and twisted world of everything that’s not, deep down there’s a part that long for affection and tender fragile things. Next to the tearing, screaming, destructive loudness of lost control it seems so innocent, so pure. It reminds me I’m not fully corrupted yet. I treasure it, protect it. Perhaps at too high a price. Fear of commitment is one way to label it. It’s not the settling down we’re afraid of, it’s having what we want so much only to have it taken away. We don’t want it to leave us, so we leave instead. Just so we are to blame. Everything is our fault anyway. That’s how the thought process works. Like the butterfly effect, the simple flutter of their wings sets off a chain reaction that changes everything, one trigger or impulse is all it takes to form a spiral of negativity. It’s so easy to get swept away. Even the strongest soldier can’t fight forever and they certainly can’t fight alone. But how can you trust someone when you can’t even trust yourself? When keeping in the worst of you is enough to exhaust you beyond caffeine’s reach? When you’ve lost your faith in kindness and the gentle touch you crave at the hands of your own destructive actions?

If you ask me, insanity is the broken process of trying to heal oneself and only adding to the madness.

Dimly lit by light of her screen, hair tucked behind her ears and wrapped tightly in her blanket. Her pale face without a trace of the enthusiasm she shows her world. Headphones in, but no music plays. There’s nothing but silence surrounding her. Gritting her teeth and occasionally biting her lip she tries to make sense of her thoughts and feelings.

The dark circles under her red swollen eyes betray more than she wants to tell. With her mask off and no one around she breaks. Everything that had been building up that day, no even from before, comes flooding out. She wants to scream out for help or… say what she knows to be true. She fiddles with her accessories and occasionally touches her wrists.

She’s cold, lonely, numb. I shouldn’t bother others with my feelings, she says to herself. She feels worthless, a failure. It will get better she repeats over and over, but she can’t convince herself. She closes her eyes and sighs, the temporary relief gives way to crack of smile. It’s quickly put down by memories that make her cringe.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.”, “I shouldn’t have done that.”, “What will they think of me.”, “No wonder I’m alone.”, these are the things that shout trough her mind whenever she recalls her “regrets”. All she really wants is to relive them, they’re happy memories after all. She longs for them so much it hurts.

She shifts around and lies down staring at her phone, lost for what to do. She has to write off her feelings, but not in a way where people will know what’s going on. That would be a disaster. Going past all her social medias she finds none that fits and instead almost automatically checks her apps. Sifting trough her subscriptions only watching for a minute before clicking the next video. She’s looking for something to entertain her, to grab her, though she doesn’t know what.

It’s not like she has nothing to do, in fact there are plenty unfinished tasks that reach their deadline soon. Meanwhile she tries to escape herself and the world around her. Reading, writing, watching something, anything to keep from overthinking. Toxic to herself this has become her routine. Numbly repeating the same useless activities, clasping desperately to her sanity by walking on the edge of reality. While others compliment her strength she colapses all alone.

I‘m disappointed in myself. What happened to the books I’d read? Or the games I’d play? The Animes I’d watch? The Youtubers I followed? What about those things I used to call hobbies but now see as tasks to avoid? Why is everything that used to bring me happiness past tense? I can’t seem to bring up the motivation when before I used to grab any chance I got to “waste” my time on these things…

Nowadays my feelings are confused and I feel like I’m a different person at every time of day. In front of people I normally don’t care about it suddenly matters that they like me and to the people I’m close with I act indifferent. Why? Why do I have no control of my actions? Why do I act out of character? Have I finally snapped?

Since these “takeovers” are so subtle that I don’t notice at the moment but afterwards I cringe over things I regret. It wasn’t me who did that. It’s not like I’m sitting in the backseat watching someone do these things, it’s more like my morals and ideas are temporarily shifted. I was there, but back then it made sense to act that way…

Arrrgh, my feelings are a mess, my head is a mess… is there anywhere left to run? To hide from who I am, no of what I’m becoming? I used to write the lines for my role but it now seems I’m only the actress and I play my part so well. Did I lose myself along the way of trying to be what people wanted me to be? Do I even know who I am to begin with? Where does my act end and my personality begin?

No more… I just want to shut everything out. Leave me alone, don’t come near. I’m lonely, give me affection. Notice me, I need to be out there more. Always contradicting fucking feelings. Choose, choose, choose. Shut up, just shut up. I shouldn’t be talking to myself. I’d like silence, in my head an all around. I can never find it, there’s always noise. No matter how much I try to drown it I can’t escape it.

Even insane characters and their ridiculous actions start to make sense, perhaps even look like fun. What the fuck. Tokyo Ghoul, known for being gruesome, is a welcome and enjoyable distraction. My mind is twisted, my likes and dislikes switched, I can no longer control my anger and my thoughts are working against me. How can I still keep up this convincing smile? Why do I do it anyway? There’s nothing being gained from being a lame puppet in this crazy game.

They’re just a few of the things that eat away at my mind. I often wonder how I manage it and then I realise I don’t. I’m not okay, I’m putting up an act. The people I lie to most are my parents, people of authority and myself. I’m broken but I keep on going, why?

So many symptoms I have to deal with daily, all alone. I don’t tell anyone about them but some will of course show in public. They’d worry and that’d stress me out more… or so I say but perhaps I’m just too afraid to try? Somehow I’m still alive, I guess I’m just too stubborn to give up, hehe.